Somewhere A Clock Is Ticking
by opal star
Summary: It's the Night Before. The hours before the big attack. And everyone is spending their final evening with this knowledge, making everything seem more beautiful and terrible than ever before. Harry talks to Ginny, Remus finds solace, Ron cries, Draco tries
1. Remus

**Summary - It's The Night Before a big attack. Everyone knows it's coming and yet it just makes it so much worse. **

**A/N: The summary sucks, I know. But I can't describe the fic at all :S Well basically it's the same night, the night before a big 'push' I guess, and everyone is just trying to... get through the night. Each chapter will be a different POV. This one is Remus. **

**It's not a songfic exactly, I just heard_Somewhere AClock is Ticking_ by Snow Patrolwhile writing it and, well, It fit so well. **

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_In slow motion, the blast is beautiful,  
Doors slam shut._

Remus Lupin - 10.23 pm. London.

Every time he walked into the hallway, he always expected something different to greet his eyes. Flashes maybe of what he life could have been. A loving partner greeting him with a hug and kiss, or perhaps a gorgeous foyer with the latest style decorating the walls, or even people milling around the house, drinks in hand and smiling happily at him. No matter how hard he concentrated, none of these people, much less the elusive partner, had a face attached to them.

But instead he had this dreary existence in an equally befitting environment. A house filled with the memories of his best friend's voice calling to him from an upstairs room, toast burning in the kitchen and the ramblings of a mad witch…

Somehow he managed to get through it all with a bracing smile, knowing that in some way he was helping. Whether it was Harry, the Order itself, or just running a pre-emptive bath for Tonks, yes, Remus Lupin was the only remotely stable handhold in a flooded river. Tonight though, at last, he could feel the tension behind his eyes ready to snap and never look back. Every day that passed, every happy thought he forced on himself, every gruesome image he pushed to the back of his mind made him want to simply let go and float down that river to whatever lay at the end.

Riffling through the Owl post, he distractedly hung his coat up on the ominous looking set of pegs. It fell to the floor with a soft thump. He stared at it for a moment before sighing and making his way into the kitchen. There were no messages for him.

When he entered the room, the only space he could stand to be in at the moment, a merry fire was crackling in the grate. He smiled, pleasantly surprised that he wasn't going to be the one to mess around with kindling tonight.

The smile grew when he saw who was sitting to the table, grinning back at him.

_Tonks, for the last time, call me Tonks!_

"Well hello there, Remus Lupin."

She stood up and answered simply to all his friendly questions. Remus pulled a thread from his frayed top nervously and closed the door behind him quickly. Already basking in the warmth of the room made the chills of the hall unbearable.

Tonight her hair was as it ever was, but the baby pink replaced by deep chestnut brown that seemed to flicker from copper to black in the dancing firelight.

"Oh, I thought I'd practise having normal hair," she laughed when he asked about it, pouring him a mug of steaming tea without cue. "I don't really want to stand out tomorrow. Milk?"

He shook his head silently and watched her top up her own cup before replacing the kettle next to the stove. There was a knot in his stomach twisting and writhing.

Tonks sighed, sat down and wrapped her fingers around the faded _Witch Weekly_ print on the beaker.

Unsure of what to do, he stayed where he was, leaning against the counter, staring past his company and into the fire. If you looked deep enough, someone had told him, past the orange, past the blue and into the black centre of the flame, you could find the answer to the question routed at the bottom of your soul. But Remus didn't know which one of his questions this would answer.

When he pulled himself back out of his thoughts he found Tonks was messing around with the ancient wireless on the table. And failing to get any kind of discernable noise out of it.

"This is so annoying," she muttered darkly, turning the dials with more force. "The amount of times I've seen you and S-_Severus _do it…"

A small grin appeared on his face and he walked forward towards her and the wayward device. After a moment of fruitless fiddling on his part, and a smirk from Tonks, he stood back and scratched his head pensively.

"There's a technique to it," he explained before bringing his fist down on it heavily.

Nothing happened. Tonks laughed and commented on his subtle craftsmanship. No sooner as the words left her mouth, the radio fizzed and crackled into life.

"It's a skill."

Shaking her head, she tuned a station in, before turning her attention onto Remus. He remained hovering, not entirely sure what to do.

If he were here alone, he would be in the chair that she was in now, his feet kicked onto stool, facing the fire, trying to find that elusive black spot. But that was a rare event recently. Every night this week there had been people here with identical strained faces, planning, plotting, preparing…

"You can sit down too, Remus. I don't bite you know."

He smiled shakily. "I know."

There was a lot more he would have liked to say but for now he pulled the chair out and collapsed into it gratefully.

A lull in the conversation followed as some music floated out of the fractured speaker. Personally he wasn't sure who they were but Tonks became humming quietly along. The clock called the hour. Buckbeak shifted his position upstairs, sending a symphony of discord along the floorboards and beams.

"I don't mean to be rude," he said, suddenly realising something. "But why are you here? Dumbledore told us to spend tonight with…"

_Loved ones._

He trailed off and closed his eyes. The pressure inside his head seemed to swell and push against his eyes, making them burn and water, and flow into his aching chest. His very fragile grasp on reality took another kick. This wasn't fair.

A hand fluttered and rested on his. For a moment he stared at it. Until then he hadn't realised how cold he was.

But he couldn't look at her and rearranged his grip, turning his palm up to meet hers.

"I'm sorry, Tonks."

The fire hissed and spat, grabbing their attention. With her other hand she brought her wand closer. They watched the fireplace in silence. For once there was no hint of Floo travel, and its travellers, that littered in the grate. The kettle was still, no longer quenching the thirst of so many passers-by, and the long desk in the study was devoid of parchments. All he had was the flames and a failing grasp of life.

And then suddenly, he found that black spot and felt the bottom of his stomach open.

_Why were all his loved ones just photos and memories?_

Merlin knew how long he stayed like that, eyes glazed and brain calm but eventually he noticed the increasing grip on his had.

"Remus? You don't have to be sorry, I wanted to come here tonight."

Blinking for a second, he looked up and her and felt the first proper smile in months fall on his face. It felt good, especially when one was returned just as honestly.

His other hand somehow managed to find its way into hers. And this curious sensation floated into his head, soothing the knots inside his head, when he realised that the very centre of her eyes held the same peace as he had found in the fire.

"…Another reminder that the Ministry is currently closed to all civil and non-essential business… high level passes needed… continued until further notice…"

The tension returned with blunt force making his eyes blaze once more. Flashes, not from his imagination, glimmered through his mind. Crosswords, stolen Snitches, itchy uniforms and summer afternoons…

He sighed as Tonks viciously attacked the machine with more force then he ever thought possible. Silently he watched as the mug was added to the carnage.

Then she stopped and exhaled slowly, a timid grin sparking onto her face as she ran her fingers through her hair.

"Don't look at me like that. I bet you've wanted to do that a lot of times before."

Notes of music floated from the beaten machine. Tonks laughed and turned the volume button up gently, fiddling now expertly until the sound filled the room.

It was hard to describe but he knew, _knew_, that this music would stay with him forever. Which was strange – music had never meant anything to him, ever. But now, now he smiled as this magnificent noise took over his head and soothed his thoughts. No words littered the soaring crescendos and sweeping adagios… There were no voices that detracted from the serene and beautiful pictures that the instruments created. It was perfect, lifting him off his seat and round towards his partner.

She looked up at, bemused.

"Care to dance, Miss. Tonks?"

All he saw was the smile, and not the empty glass she knocked over, and all he felt was her hand on his arm and the warmth of his back.

For all he knew, or cared, they were no longer in a slightly damp house, squashed in a Muggle street. They were not in a crowded but deserted kitchen anymore. It could have been a majestic ballroom in London, a stylish foyer perhaps or a field in the middle of nowhere. All he really knew, or cared about, was that one of those elusive people now had a face attached to their body.

And then, typically, the arcing music dissolved and was replaced by something barely there, coursing through the broken speakers. Mere sounds that made them draw closer, but somehow not look directly at each other. For his part, he watched her neck, realising for the first time how perfectly it curved into her jaw and chin, setting her lips in place.

He smiled when his eyes met her. Something he didn't know could be unwound, unwound.

"You know," he murmured next to her ear, his fingers trailing and enjoying the warmth on her back. "You can almost smell my freshly pressed dress robes."

Tonks laughed quietly and parted for a second to inspect them.

"Of course, you can almost hear the _swish-_" She twirled out seamlessly, her hand still in one of his, but the other showing him something he couldn't see, "-of my beautiful gown."

And after that he really could almost see the fabric turning at her fingertips, shimmering in the dieing firelight. His patchy clothes and her ripped jeans disappeared. Just for these moments they, he, could pretend they were different people, in a different, kinder, world.

After brushing the invisible folds from his invisible robes, she replaced her arm on his and stood closer than she had before.

He didn't mind when she threaded a finger through a hole on the shoulder of his jumper. In fact, he smiled an invisible smile into her hair.

More time passed, more notes passed through his head until they faded away with the dieing radio.

He didn't notice for the longest time.

**Next chapter - Harry and Ginny. **


	2. Ginny

**A/N: Same night and same time as the previous chapter. This time it's Ginny.**

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_Something happened, that I never understood  
You can't leave_

Ginny Weasley - Diagon Alley, 9.45 pm

Ginny flattened down the bed cover, smoothing the imagined creases out. She couldn't keep still. Glancing through the bedroom door and into her small flat, she sighed. The ruins of her half-hearted attempt to make dinner, still burnt and still smelling, remained in the kitchen sink Somehow she didn't have the heart to perform the simple spell to clean them, nor to return them to their proper place.

She fluffed up the pillows once more before straightening up and wandering out of her bedroom. Without looking back, she turned the light off and aimlessly meandered into the space her furniture now filled.

Nothing had changed in the three minutes she was away from it.

The calendar pinned next to her over-flowing desk revealed it was a Saturday in April; a black shaky circle drawn around the Sunday next to it with nothing written inside demanded all her attention. But she didn't need reminding.

The clock chimed the hour. It was well into night and yet the thought of sleep had yet to cross her mind.

There were no sounds coming from the street below, despite what day and time it was. Only last week she had happily gone to sleep listening to the last, half arsed songs that floated up and through the charms on her windows. But it was no Muggle street and its people were probably at home with their families, Spending the night with loved ones. But here Ginny stayed, all alone.

Her parents had invited all their children to the Burrow tonight but she had declined. Tomorrow morning she didn't need their solemn faces writing over the happy memories she had. The winter nights playing chess at night with Ron, the summer days with Charlie, secretly playing Quidditch, the Twins playing tricks on Percy, a sweeping hug from Bill…

The cold of the window felt good against her burning forehead. A strangled sob misted the glass.

Before she was truly left alone with her thoughts, there was a knock on the door.

Gently pulling the tears from her eyes she made her way over to the doorway. Her wand was firmly in her grip. She wasn't expecting anyone.

But it was Harry. The grip on her wand loosened slightly.

He stood there silently, leaning on the frame for support and staring at the ground. When he did finally look up at her, she wished he never had.

His eyes were dead.

"Can I come in?"

A moment's pause.

"Of course, yes."

She moved to the side, taking his arm and guiding him in, talking nonsense. Anything to distract herself from the expression hanging over his face.

His voice was hoarse and strained as he answered her questions dully.

Turning around from closing the door, she expected to see him collapsed on one of the chairs; kicking his feet onto the coffee table – like he had done every other time he was here. But instead he was standing there, staring at her.

"Have you been crying?"

Ginny swallowed and smiled. "Nearly."

He nodded thoughtfully.

Nothing else was said for a few moments. She felt uncomfortable, not at all sure why he was here, or what she ought to do. Feeling slightly despite, she wished he hadn't come, knowing that this would be how she would remember him. Lifeless and cold inside of laughing and alive.

Still he did nothing.

"Would you like a drink?" she asked quietly, finally breaking the awful silence. "I don't have much. Just tea and this weird orange drink… I think it was here when I moved in actually…"

Her voice had faded away beneath her. Without a word, he had walked up to her, so close that she could see the faint scars on his jaw, so close she could almost feel the heat and the pain radiating from the one on his forehead. But he didn't touch her. They just looked at one another.

_So this is what it would have been like. _

There were butterflies rippling in her stomach. She truly didn't know why. Harry wasn't that kind of person to her, not anymore. He hadn't been for years.

And then he began slowly stroking the hair off her face. First out of her eyes, tucking it gently behind her ears, then off her shoulders, trailing his fingers through it and down her back. She watched him, wanting to cry even more, feeling the hard skin of his fingertip run over her freckles. He smiled but it never moved his mouth. She watched a small sparkle return at last to his eyes.

When he leaned in and kissed her, she wasn't naïve enough to be surprised. But somehow the softness did, even when he eventually deepen it.

She had no idea how long they stayed like this – together but never really touching each other – but he finally broke away. But he didn't move apart from her and stayed just as close; his forehead leaned against hers and body so close. Now she could really feel the uncomfortable warmth of his scar.

Her eyes tried to find his. They were screwed shut as he bit his bottom lip.

"You're tired, Harry," she whispered, stroking his face. "You need to sleep."

He ignored her. "You know I always loved you, Ginny."

She closed her eyes. This wasn't what she wanted right now; she couldn't handle this at this moment. Not from him.

"You don't mean that, Harry."

His eyes were open when she finally looked at him. There was something flickering beneath them. _Hurt. _

"I don't." He made an odd choking noise and his eyes scrunched up once more. "But I do. It's strange Ginny. I don't know what I would do if you weren't here. I don't know where I would be if I wasn't here now."

Ginny sighed, knowing that it was too late to hold onto the memories she had of him. "C'mon."

Picking up his limp hand, she pulled him through the unusually tidy flat and into the bedroom. Harry didn't put up any fight or resistance until they stood right next to the bed. It was then he let go.

She glanced back at him. He was staring at her unnaturally neat bed.

"I just wanted to see what it would be like," he murmured, eyes flicking onto hers. "What we could have been…"

Then it all seemed to dawn on her. He hadn't come here tonight to look for love, of any kind. Something settled in her chest and she had no idea what it was. But it made her kiss him briefly and make him look at her.

"I love you too Harry."


	3. Draco

**So now it's Draco and a little OC of mine. I honestly couldn't think of a cannon character to fit this job... Lol. Shameless plugging. Enjoy. Bear in mind this is an un-betaed draft**

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_I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed  
(I could do most anything to you...)  
Don't you breathe_

Draco Malfoy - 1.32 am, Wiltshire

Draco stared up at the sky. Just visible through the wisps of scattered cloud was a half moon, hovering silently. He squinted up, the ice-cold night making the craters and surface of the satellite seem almost blue.

_I'm sure it used to be bigger when I was younger, positive. _

Perhaps it was because he hadn't looked at the sky, night or day, in such a long time. Too long his aching shoulders had been hunched over parchment, his hand numb from holding a wand tightly and his throat dry and dead. Night after night he had sat on this very balcony, on this excuse for a chair, and smoked away his life, simply staring at the walls around him.

His gaze wandered down to the ghostly illuminated gardens. Hedges and flowers had been washed in grey and shadow, changing only in the intensity of darkness. But even in this beautiful pale light, his vision ended where a line of elegant ash trees stood, their long shadows making his moonlit world disappear.

A bank of cloud rolled across the light in the heavens.

He only had the energy for a grunt.

Draco longed for the balmy summer nights in which he and, very occasionally when a cigarette was in his hand, Amelia spend out here, basking in the warmth of the world around them. They would watch the birds returning home into the very trees that now ended the sight of his winter vigil. But she would sit on the edge of the stone around the edge of their balcony, making him ill when he remembered how high they were and only making her laugh. But that was months ago, mere memories. So much had happened since then. It had been weeks since they had been properly together, as a couple, as a family.

This summer, perhaps, he would teach Aidan to ride a broom. He was just old enough now for a child's one but still begged and begged his father, Draco, to take him out and soaring around the grounds.

Draco sighed, exhaling the last of the smoke.

_One day at a time. _

He would be grateful to be sitting here, like this tomorrow night, temporality thrown out of his own house. A thought he never expected to cross his conscious mind.

Being out here was the least of his worries at the moment.

Nothing, he knew, _knew_, would ever be the same ever again. He hadn't been so sure about anytime like this in a long time.

Flicking the butt over the side of the wall, he settled further into the chair and under the magically warm blanket he had with him. The chair groaned and creaked accordingly but stayed put. This year's summer would be most welcome.

Tomorrow morning called to him and his gaze drew uneasily towards the eastern horizon. Still and absolute darkness still controlled the landscape. He closed his eyes and sighed. Merlin knew if he would ever see another night at all, let alone from his bedroom balcony… or anywhere else.

But the view was the least of his worries.

Trouble was he had so many worries, tangled and mixed up inside him, that they had now intertwined and massed into one nagging, wiggling feeling. Each time he would try and pick one of the threads of unease out, it would remind him of another, which then lead onto another until he had finally learnt, for the sake of getting any kind of rest, to leave them well alone. At the moment this sensation was at the pit of his stomach, churning up the dinner he had forced down his throat.

And it was beginning to grow now, with the clock chiming an hour at least twelve hours later than he would have liked.

Feeling those worries rise up to his throat, he began searching for his pack of cigarettes, gradually becoming frantic as each pocket, no matter how deep his looked, or how desperate he was, and found nothing.

"Shit."

He'd left them in the bedroom, on Amelia's dressing table, behind a bottle of perfume that she never used.

But as he started to stand up, shrugging off his cover, he found his wife in the doorway. Standing silently, watching him with a small packet in a hand of one of her folded arms.

"You'll be wanting another then, I suppose?"

Draco tried to smile. Only his lips wouldn't move. His mouth also refused to make a discernable noise, until,

"I need another one."

A smile spilt onto her face.

Something that may have been relief, dread, or simply his knees finally giving way, made him sit back down. Amelia had never liked his smoking; despite the fact that she used to be just as bad as him. But recently, instead of opening scolding and defacing is packets, her face would go blank as soon as she found any hint of cigarettes. Somehow, he longed for the out shouts and little arguments they would have and he wished she would just yank the carton off him and hurl it over the wall. He needed someone with energy to talk to him, he needed something he could hold onto tomorrow – not the pained and forced blank looks his company had forced on her.

But when he looked back at her, she was closer, offering the pack to him. Her expression remained unreadable and, despite past experiences, Draco took it off her quickly. As soon as the box was in his hand, and a little before that if he was honest with himself, he knew it was empty.

At this point, Amelia grinned spitefully. "And oh dear… you ran out."

He frowned at her with as much energy as he could muster. She was not a very nice person sometimes. After barely a few seconds he looked away, back into the night. Energy had failed him.

The floating tangle that was his worries seemed to now expand, filling every part of his body. He would be grateful when it finally took over what little of his heart remained, so the nagging in the pit of soul would disappear.

"Could you find me some?" he asked, his voice rasping. "I can't let myself think at the moment. They're the only things that helps…"

The malicious twinkle disappeared immediately from her eyes.

"I shouldn't have done that," she whispered, sitting gingery on the arm of the chair. In spite of her attempts at being delicate, the chair still made an awful cacophony of noise. She laughed quietly, and he found himself smiling, suddenly glad she was here and pulled her onto his lap.

For a few blissful moments he remained leaning against her back, watching the patterns behind his eyes dance, smelling her hair and feeling her breathe quietly. Then her shoulder blade knocked into his face as she began to turn around.

"I know what this must be like for you."

It was only a simple statement, and he knew she really was trying to help, but he had to fight back his embittered annoyance. Draco found her hand. He stared at it for a moment, trying to decide what to say. "I don't think you really do."

"Then help me understand-"

"How can I!" he snapped, pushing her off him as they both stood up. "How can I explain what it's like having this-" he pulled up the sleeve of his left arm up roughly, his nails inadvertently catching his skin. His voice had turned into a low hiss "-embedded inside you? I just can't. And to be perfectly honest, I cannot _understand _why you would ever _want _to understand."

Amelia's eyes had barely flickered onto his arm. She knew well enough what was there, and what had been there intermittently for years, permanently for the last few weeks. That ugly black mark staining their lives. For the rest of the time, she met his gaze, even when she had backed herself against the wall. She didn't speak for so long that he managed to calm down, taking in deep breath, coming alive once again.

He sighed and half stumbled away from her, feeling his head reel. Somehow he managed to fall into his chair rather than on the floor.

"I'm sorry," his muttered as his rubbed his face. "I don't want… need… bad memories of you… us…"

Perhaps he imagined the sniff, but he felt Amelia at his side. She didn't sit with him this time, but simply knelt down to his level and pulled his hands away from his face. "Think of something else. Remember last year, in France? Away from everything…? Just me, you and Aidan."

Guilt washed over him as he had forgotten completely about it… The hazy days on deserted beaches they had spent together when they were younger, their first family holiday with Aidan – days of making magic sandcastles which could actually fit any number of small boys in comfortably, trying to catch fish with little hands and lazing on balconies, on much warmer nights, with his new wife… He swallowed nervously after a moment. Their last day spent at the seaside, teaching Aidan to swim by a small jetty and dropping him into the water when his dark mark flared up painfully… And then, finally, arguing with Amelia and Apparating back to England anyway.

He didn't want these things pressing into his head, squashing out information that he was already desperately clinging onto.

Amelia's soft voice filtered into his awareness. "…At least go and see him. Why do you refuse to see him? He adores you–"

"Stop it. Just don't say it."

Draco prayed to whatever Merlin, God or whatever higher being there was that Amelia's face really wasn't betraying what she thought of him. He felt her lips brush his hand before she stood back up. He caught her hand again, stopping her walk away.

"I can't think about anything," he murmured, suddenly unable to look at her. "Because if I do, I'll have to think about everything. Everything I've done and will do. Please… I can't see him."

A small smile appeared on her face and she kissed him briefly. "Please come to me before you go."

He watched her walk back into their room, leaving the door open. The curtains were being drawn out by the light breeze that had snuck up on him, barely audible above the colossal rustling of the trees behind him. Breathing in deeply, he hoped to find some scent of spring. There was none – the air remained bitterly cold and devoid of life. And then his sight was drawn away from the warm, yellow light of his bedroom and back to the fading moon. Black was beginning to turn into navy as he lit the cigarette that had been placed into his hand.

In-between drags, he studied the item in his fingers and absently hoped it would be these that killed him. Half finished, he flicked it over the side of the balcony, and into the grey shadows below. As he watched the small orange light disappear below him, and the white lights above him wane, he wondered vaguely what could be, would have been, like. Perhaps another child; a girl for Amelia to dress in ridiculously pink outfits (she had looked at them longingly enough in the shops), more nights like these, or maybe nothing but four grey walls for him.

But, as he stood up and ignored the eastern sky, a future life was the least of his worries now.


End file.
